


Remembrance of Things Past

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Community: lgbtfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake is gradually regaining his memories, although some are not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance of Things Past

Another headache, another nightmare, another attenuated sleep period spent pacing the long, empty corridors of _Liberator_. What in the name of all the gods was he to do about these nightmares? They were driving him insane with their hints and flashes of a life of which he had no conscious memories. Who were these people who populated that morass of tangled scenes? His family? His friends? His enemies? Try as he might, he couldn't place any of them. He had reclaimed his memory of the resistance movement, his own renouncement of that movement at the hands of the criminotherapists, the terrible price that so many had paid for their involvement, but none of the faces.

The first time his mind had been altered by the Federation many parts of his early memories had been left intact—his family, his sensory preferences, his knowledge of the London Dome. Not so the second, third, and fourth times. He awoke in his prison cell with only the memory of his name and the crime of which he'd been convicted—all other information had been wiped or buried behind thick, blank walls.

Child molester. He saw the faces of the three young boys, heard their cries of pain and their pleas for him to stop, but he could never get hold of the feelings which he must have experienced. Instead, the entire episode had the quality of a remembered vidcast, without depth. Every time these scenes played out in his mind he cringed in reaction, but why? If he had committed the crime, wouldn't he relish these recollections instead of recoil from them? How could you know who you were when you had no memory left in which to place any experience? Finally, he came to the only conclusion that made sense: the memories of those children had been implanted in his mind and were false. There was no other explanation for the revulsion they caused, none. It was an oft recited litany in the days and months that followed. Tonight he repeated it again, cadence keeping time with his footsteps as he roamed about.

There were other dreams, too, ones from which he awoke sweating and unsatisfied, ripped from the arms of a lover he could never see. Had there been a special woman? Had she believed the Federation accusations about the three boys? Was she even now cursing his name and wishing they'd never met? Or was his dream lover someone less known, a casual acquaintance, an anonymous body to slake his desires? The choices on _Liberator_ were limited: Jenna or Cally. But, then again, so were his reactions He hadn't worried too much about it, assuming the mind rape to which he'd been subjected had destroyed his sexual desires—they would return in time, hopefully. And it seemed he was right, at least as far as his dream life was concerned, but there had apparently been no change in his waking hours. He made all the right moves—smiled, hugged, complimented—but there was nothing in his heart except familial love. Jenna had been interested from the beginning and Cally, too, he supposed if he'd shown any interest. Both women were attractive—only he wasn't attracted. He even tried overlaying his vision with memories from his dreams, but he could never make them blend.

He came to the u-turn and assent lift at the end of one long corridor, deciding to go up a couple of levels and see what he could find. As usual, the lights came on ahead of him, illuminating a corridor the same as the one he'd left, except that there were longer spaces between doors. This ship was so very large; it felt like flying an apartment block. He wondered how many crew it was supposed to carry—a hundred, two hundred, more? There were levels none of them had visited yet, levels and levels. Using logic they had found the engine maintenance rooms, and at least a few of the storage holds. Much of the contents of these were still a mystery, as many items were not analogous to anything they knew. The quarters for the crew were rather Spartan in design, as if they weren't intended for long term use, or as if the crew were very unlike humans in some fundamental way. The clothing they had found was definitely designed for a human size and shape, but there was something very alien about everything—the lack of pictures of any kind, the lack of mirrors, the strange and limited selection of food, no music of any sort, no games.

Stopping at a door embossed with an emblem of some sort, he keyed the lock and walked into a large, richly furnished suite, completely unlike anything else on _Liberator_, except maybe the horseshoe sofa on the flight deck. Luxury was definitely not the order of the day on this ship. He walked through a sitting area into the sleeping alcove, where a large bed with many pillows rested. Sitting on the bed, he was surprised by the give of the mattress—the beds in the quarters they were occupying were very firm, bordering on rock solid. So, there was another side to these aliens, one much more human. He lay back against the pillows, enjoying the unexpected comfort, and closed his eyes.

_Oh, gods, just a bit more, yes, like that...please, don't stop, don't stop, yes, almost, almost, almost— "Yes!!" he shouted and startled awake, gasping for air, sweating and straining with the need of unreleased sexual tension, and reeling with the confusion of his dream. Who...? Looking around the darkened cabin, he could see no one else awake—maybe the shout had only been in his dream. For a moment, he breathed easier, but then noticed the interested gaze of that sharp-tongued computer tech who'd been pointed out to him earlier. A sneer curled the man's lip, announcing loud and clear that he had indeed heard Blake's cry and knew exactly what had caused it. Hot blood rushed to his face and he turned away, angry and embarrassed and unsatisfied._

He awoke from his dream of dreaming disturbed and haunted. Whose was the body that triggered such confusion and desire? He tried to shake off these feelings of being stalked by something in his mind, something dangerous. And why was Avon there? He sat up, wondering how long he had slept in these unfamiliar surroundings and scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. What in the name of all the gods was he to do? These dreams had to stop, had to be made to leave him alone, or had to become clearer, more definite, so that he understood what they were trying to tell him. He lay back again, trying to puzzle out what all this meant and how best to go about finding out. He couldn't just depend on erotic dreams to sort out his tangled and destroyed memories....

_"Why are you moping around, Roj? Don't you want to join your friends at the plaza for the light show and concert?" _

_His mother was always after him to take part in more social events—he must learn to uphold his position as a member of an influential Alpha family. He hated being an Alpha, hated everything about it except the education. He loved learning, loved especially the old books he'd found in a dark little shop located down in the 'forbidden town' below all the Delta and Gamma residence levels. He wasn't supposed to go down there, no one was. There were horror stories of murders, kidnapping, and worse, although he wasn't sure what would be worse. But for some reason, he loved it there. The little shops, more caverns than stores, were piled high with all sorts of things, the uses of which were mostly unknown—he suspected that was part of the draw. _

_Since he'd found the wonderful cache of books several years ago, he'd spent all his spare time reading about a marvelous world that was almost beyond belief. There were no social classes, no domes, no restrictions on travel, no Code of Standards. Everyone had the same rights, everyone. People could be whatever they wanted, marry whomever they wanted, do whatever they wanted as long as they didn't cause harm to anyone. And strangest of all, there were people who didn't agree with their government and nothing bad happened to them. They were called nonconformists, thought of as a little strange, but also admired by a lot of people._

_As a direct result of this illicit reading, he began to notice the overbearing attitude of his own government, the intrusiveness of the Dome Oversight Force in the lives of the citizens, the almost suffocating restrictions on personal behavior. Then came the secret expeditions outside, where he discovered the wonder of wild growing things, the beautiful freshness of unrecycled air, and the glory and majesty of the sea caught up in a winter storm. How he longed to be out in the middle of it, tossed high in one of the magnificent ships he read about. He welcomed the trips he made to his uncle Ushton, even though that planet wasn't the natural wonder that earth was. _

_It was while he was outside that he eventually met others like himself, who wanted a kind of freedom they had never known, who knew there was something evil about the Federation. One of these people was Alex Badeau, a man several years older than Roj. The others, most young like himself, were still struggling against a lifetime of conditioning. But Alex knew what he believed and knew what he wanted to do about it. For the first time in his life Roj Blake was passionate about something. He spent hours talking to his new friends, especially Alex. The man was mesmerizing and Roj was completely enthralled, hardly able to tear himself away from their ever more frequent meetings. Gradually, he became aware of his growing love for this man, his joy in his presence, his reluctance to part from him, the painful longing to be with him, the willingness to lie, steal, cheat—whatever it took—in order to return to him._

"Blake. Blake, your watch began ten minutes ago. You're needed on the flight deck." There was a pause, and then, "Where in hell are you? Answer the damn intercom."

He awoke to Avon's irritated voice in his ears and a kind of triumph in his soul. He'd seen the face of his mother; he knew why he was so determined to defeat the Federation; he knew the name of his first lover—his lover, Alex Badeau, the founder of the Freedom Party—his now dead lover, like so many others.

When he could talk around the lump in his throat, he tripped the intercom. "Yes, Avon. Sorry I'm...late. I'll be right down."

He used the fresher unit and tried to finger comb his hair into some semblance of order. He stared at himself in the small mirror he found there, thinking he should be able to see some sort of change; after all, he'd gone to sleep 'normal' and awakened bent. Men—he preferred men. Did this mean he had interfered with those boys? Is that what homosexuals did? He tried to uncover any memory of the incident besides the one he'd attributed to the Federation, but there was still nothing there. Only now, he had a new memory—Alex of the sky blue eyes and determined will; Alex of the brave heart and warm arms; Alex, whom he had renounced....

Pain rose in him as he turned from the mirror and left the suite. He had been told how he had betrayed his fellow rebels, how he had been responsible for their deaths, but until now he'd had no one specific to attach to that knowledge. With the recollection of this one face, all the guilt of those deaths surged up to squeeze his heart in painful bitterness. Why did he expect new people to trust him? Why should they? And if they found out his sexual preferences, would that make a difference to them? He couldn't remember anything about prejudices for or against.

He stepped down onto the flight deck, still trying to puzzle out his change in self-awareness. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized again. Avon, who was busy with a circuit board, didn't even look up to acknowledge his presence, so he went on to the flight station and checked the course settings. As far as he could tell, everything was as it should be—scanners showed no objects other than the normal star fields. He checked the other navigation settings before leaning back and letting his mind return to its new memories. Nothing seemed the same, now, nothing. No wonder he'd felt no attraction to Jenna or Cally—wrong sex. But what about the men aboard _Liberator_? He smiled when he let himself envision approaching Gan with a sexual suggestion. He could well imagine the discomfiture such an action would cause. And Vila? Well, maybe, if the topic were brought up the right way, but still.... His glance slid to Avon who was bent over the central table, prying at some stubborn wiring. What would this man have to say about his new memories, his new self-realization? He looked away again; it didn't bear contemplation. Avon already thought that Blake was out of his mind, this would only add another layer of doubt, give him another reason to withhold his support.

"You look like hell. Still not sleeping?"

He jumped at Avon's words, unaware that he had moved closer. Meeting the dark eyes, he could feel a   
flush spreading up his neck to color his face. "No, no, I slept...overslept." He tried a smile, but knew it looked forced.

"Where? You weren't in your quarters when you answered."

"No, I was exploring one of the upper levels. Things are different up there, almost luxurious. I fell asleep on one of the beds and didn't wake up on time." He shrugged and returned his gaze to the navigation board. Never mind what he'd dreamed, what he now knew. He was suddenly very aware of Avon's physical presence, the aura of intensity that surrounded the man, the almost tangible glow that emanated from him. He chanced another glance at Avon, and was caught by the speculative look he found there.

"Really? You'll have to show me sometime, sounds...interesting."

Avon walked off the flight deck without a backward glance, leaving that space less alive, but also less threatening. Well, he'd wanted his memories back even though he hadn't considered what would happen if those memories were not what he had expected. It was going to be...interesting if nothing else.

"Zen, can you put results of my questions on the monitor in my cabin and key it for my retrieval only?"

+Certainly. State your questions.+

"What is the current attitude toward homosexuality among the Federation worlds?"

+I do not possess information adequate to answer the question fully. Do you wish a partial answer?+

"Yes, yes, whatever you can." He would begin where he could and gather information as he went. He would learn what he was and what that meant as best he could and, maybe, this would trigger more memories to fill the gaping hole in his mind. In the meantime he would relive what memories he had and hold fast to them as security against an overwhelming universe.


End file.
